


Contract Formation

by snarkymonkey



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Bilbo is bitchy, Humor, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Snark, Thorin is Thorin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 01:42:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29643891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarkymonkey/pseuds/snarkymonkey
Summary: Bilbo finds that his loathsome relative, Lobelia Sackville-Baggins, has hired a contractor to build nonsense on her property in a new bid to get him to vacate Bag End.  Bilbo, however, isn't one to leave a challenge unanswered.  Especially when said challenge includes a very handsome, very stoic dwarf.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Comments: 13
Kudos: 83





	Contract Formation

Bilbo settled into his easy chair, paperback on his lap, tea gently steaming in his hand. He lifted his cup for a sip and the resulting boom sent scalding tea all over his hand and arm chair.

He blinked, staring straight ahead, well aware that his skin currently screamed in pain but more taken aback by the very unusual vibrations settling. Until _another_ thud rattled the china along the walls. Thankfully, no more tea remained in his cup to further mar his hand.

He set the cup down gently and mopped up the tea that had hit the floor, frowning at the bright-red welts on his hand. Content that he’d managed to mitigate the worst of the possible stain, he straightened his waistcoat and marched to his front door.

Bilbo yanked it open and stormed out into the bright morning, wondering who would get the joy of being eviscerated. He found the culprits quite quickly given the buzz of noise and heavy equipment at the end of his lane. 

“Sackville-Baggins,” he hissed. He should have known. Given he’d refused to rise to Lobelia’s recent baits regarding the Baggins homestead, he was far from surprised that she’d opted for rockets; or whatever she had planned.

Not to be deterred, he continued his headlong stomp, finding the majority of staff at the top of his relatives’ drive, the dwarves milling about, squinting at the puffs of dirt several yards away.

He scanned the crowd and found the one that _had_ to be in charge. He was taller than the other dwarves - barring one who was leaning against a Caterpillar, drinking coffee - and stood beside a makeshift table covered with papers and safety hats.

Bilbo rolled up his sleeves and shoved past the younger dwarf stammering something about “right of access” or other nonsense. At the table, he cleared his throat, staring a hole into the back of the dwarf’s head.

The dwarf in question glanced back once and intoned, “The owners are away while we work. Back in a week.”

_Oh, bloody hell. Of course she did this and lit out. “_ Coward,” he muttered. He cleared his throat again. “Have you a permit?”

“Pardon?”

Bilbo glared. “A. Permit.” 

“For the explosives?”

_Oh, this is . . ._ he wanted to scream. It was as though Lobelia sought ought the most infuriating dwarf just for this reason. Smiling grimly, Bilbo nodded. “Among other things.”

“Hn.” The dwarf pointed at a small binder at the corner. “Everything’s there. Here at the behest of the owners after all.”

“And you never considered _warning_ neighbors?” Bilbo was certain steam extruded from his ears by this point. He clenched his hands, still stinging from the spilled tea. “It’s bloody eight in the morning!” he shouted, finally losing the hold on his temper.

The older dwarf looked at him from steely blue eyes bordered by dark brows. “Not needed,” he grunted, turning back to his planning table.

“What?!”

He looked back up. “Not. Needed.” He refocused on his maps, picking up a radio as he did. “Private property and all that. I’m here at the behest of the owner,” he repeated. He clicked the radio but when Bilbo hadn’t moved, he reset the button. “Head home, Master Hobbit.”

If it was possible, Bilbo would be splitting the sky with a shrill whistle. “That’s Master _Baggins_ to you, you . . . great . . . blundering . . . _dwarf_!” He gave the dwarf a sharp nod and spun on his heel, swearing under his breath the entire time.

“Bloody Sackville-Bagginses. You think developing your back thirty is enough to drive me from Bag End?” He laughed to himself, shaking his head, knowing full well he likely looked as though he’d gone ‘round the bend. “Oh, no. I think not.”

~~

Once Bilbo returned home, he’d regained more of his composure as well as a fresh cup of tea which did _wonders_ for easing his current turmoil. So, Lobelia decided to _develop_ her property? It was a useless field. Too far from the main lane and certain wasn’t conducive to any harvest of any kind. That she would waste the money to annoy Bilbo, though, gave him a bit of sour amusement.

“At least I know you’ll be out more than I, Lobelia,” he muttered, sipping at his tea while he peered out his front window. Sure enough, another heavy truck headed up the drive toward Lobelia’s. 

“What in the world did you even decide to do?” That, honestly, was the main curiosity. Having to deal with the disruption was its own annoyance but now that he knew to expect it, he was more intrigued by what Lobelia had requested that required so many dwarves.

“Maybe she’s finally investing in a crypt,” he muttered. He huffed into his tea rolling his eyes. “Bloody hell, she’s got me talking to myself now.” He finished another cup of tea and cleaned up the rest of his breakfast, his peace fully shattered.

Well, no matter. He had plenty to do around the house - disruptions not withstanding. With luck, there would be further explosions and the most he’d have to deal with was the dim grumble of machinery across fields.

At least, that had been his understanding until just past noon, when he heard a sharp rapid knock. He put aside the laundry he’d been collected and headed to the front of the house. On the other side of the door, to his surprise, was the dwarf from before.

He smiled. “Here to apologize, are you?”

The dwarf raised an eyebrow. “For what?”

Bilbo glowered. “Never mind,” he muttered. “What do you need?” he sighed instead.

The dwarf pointed toward the back of Bilbo’s house. “We’ve knocked a tree over your fence. I need permission to access your property to remove it.”

“What?” He shoved past the dwarf, hurrying outside. Some distance away, he could see the crew milling about a fallen tree, the bulk of which had landed on Bilbo’s side of the property line. “How in the _hell_ did you manage that?” he squawked.

The dwarf shrugged. “It happens.” He looked at Bilbo. “So. Have I your permission?”

Bilbo groaned, rubbing his face. “And you’ll fix the fence?”

Here, the dwarf finally showed _some_ emotion. He winced. “Er, yes. No charge, obviously.”

“I should hope not!”

The dwarf’s softer nature hardened instantly. “Are you done wailing about your fence or can I get my lads moving?”

“I’m not wailing!” Bilbo’s face went hot at the smirk. “You are . . . yes, fine. You have permission,” he muttered. He looked up at the card suddenly thrust into his hand.

_Oakenshield Construction. Erebor._ Such a distance. Lobelia must have really had a thorn in her arse this time. Bilbo sighed. “Fine,” he added. “Just . . . please try to be quick about it.” His eyes widened as the dwarf moved to leave. He snagged the man’s sleeve, not bothering to react at the odd look he gave Bilbo. “What in the world is she building?”

He pursed his lips. “Is she family?”

“Unfortunately,” Bilbo replied. The chuckle that earned surprised him and he smiled weakly. “Distant. Very distant. Very, _very_ distant. But clearly not distant enough,” he explained, waiving at their adjoined properties.

“Hm. Well, she wanted a survivalist bunker.” He shook his head. “Not my business. But, hence the explosions, had to break the ground first.”

Bilbo blinked at him before snickering, belatedly covering his mouth as he did. “Oh, d-did she?” He tried to see his stodgy, combative relative living long enough into an apocalypse to even _use_ a bunker. He cleared his throat. “Spendy, I take it?”

“Can be,” the dwarf replied. He held out a hand suddenly. “Thorin.”

“Ah!” Bilbo shook his hand. So, the man and the card were one in the same. It seemed that, though Thorin and his crew had been a rather rude surprise for Bilbo’s weekend, the dwarf himself wasn’t all to blame. “Well, thank you for the warning, Thorin.” He sighed again, thinking of the damage to his property. Hopefully nothing permanent. He jumped at the solid hand that clapped against his shoulder.

“Not to worry, Master Hobbit. We’ll have the tree away in no time.”

It wasn’t until Thorin was halfway toward his crew that Bilbo shouted back, “Master Baggins! Er, but you can call me Bilbo!” All he received was a brief wave in return.

“Mm. Well, at least I know you continue to make _sound_ financial decisions, Lobelia,” he sighed. And he most certainly did _not_ watch Thorin march off for longer than necessary.

~~

Bilbo put the matter out of his head until nearly four when he glanced out his back window to find the tree was still sprawled across his broken fence. He frowned. The truck was still there. But no dwarves. 

“Oh, for -” he broke off. Well, dinner prep would have to wait. He set aside his cookbook and headed outside, again making his way toward Lobelia’s property. To his annoyance, most of the crew appeared to be gone but for Thorin and his giant friend.

“Thorin!” To his annoyance, the dwarf barely acknowledged the shout, only peering at him. “Thorin,” he tried again, calmer, “explain why that tree is still on my property?”

“We haven’t been able to move it,” he explained.

“I can _see_ that. Why?”

“Haven’t the gear.” He shrugged, nonplussed. “It’ll be done tomorrow.”

Bilbo shut his eyes for a moment, trying to rein his temper. “And you didn’t tell me, why?”

Thorin frowned at him. “I’m not working for you.”

The other dwarf chuckled and clapped Thorin on the back, rocking him. “See you in the morning, Thorin.”

Thorin waved at him absently, not looking away from Bilbo. “Aye, Dwalin.” Once Dwalin had headed back down the road, Thorin folded his arms, head tilted slightly. “You’re rather impatient, aren’t you?”

“You knocked a tree onto my property!” Bilbo retorted. “I think I’m entitled to be a bit put out.” He glanced away from Thorin, unsettled by another thought. The dwarf really was quite . . . attractive. All other dwarves he’d met in the past – including the rest of his crew – were relatively swarthy and loud. Not unpleasant, necessarily, but certainly a bit much to take in.

Thorin, however, appeared to be unique among his people. He was tall and quiet, well-built and neatly groomed. His beard was shorter than most and his dark hair, lined with strips of silver had been pulled back into a tight tail at his nape. 

All in all, quite attractive and that thought did little but annoy Bilbo further.

Thorin’s eyes narrowed but a smile tugged at his bearded lips. “Huh. Well, it’s Ironwood so I need stronger equipment. We only brought what we needed today to do the excavation.” He lifted his brows in comical exaggeration. “Unless . . . you wanted me to spray your property with pieces of tree and fence line?”

Bilbo hunched his shoulders and scowled.

Thorin grinned in triumph and Bilbo’s heart most certainly _did_ not skip a beat as a result. “Thought so. My crew will bring in the proper equipment tomorrow to haul it out.” He held up a finger. “Oh, more explosions tomorrow. We’ll also have to blast that stump out.”

“Fine,” Bilbo muttered. He stared at Thorin for a moment, and urge to say _something_ suddenly bubbling in his chest. When he realized Thorin had raised an eyebrow in confusion, he reddened. “Er, yes. Yes, that’s fine. “I’ll . . . tomorrow then.”

“Good night, Master Hobbit,” Thorin remarked, turning toward a the only black truck left on the property.

Bilbo was halfway to his door when he slapped his forehead. “It’s Baggins, you bloody idiot,” he muttered. “Most forgetful dwarf, my word.” He shook his head. Well, given the tree was _still_ his problem, he’d have to make sure that Thorin kept his word the next morning.

No other reason to talk to the dwarf. Nope None at all. 

~~

The next morning, Bilbo was up earlier than usual, two cups of tea gone and a third at his elbow. So far, there had been no new explosions and only the faintest of rumbles from the Sackville-Baggins property. He _might_ have been sitting at his back porch, reading. He _might_ have been waiting to see if Thorin kept his word to dismantle the sad mess of tree dead on his land. And he _might_ have been getting more frustrated as the minutes ticked by when no dwarves neared the property line.

Eventually, after two hours of stewing and flicking his eyes to the field so many times he risked a repetitive stress injury, he snapped his book shut and slapped it down on the table beside him. “Must I do _everything_?” he muttered.

By now, he’d apparently become a common sight to the construction site as hardly anyone looked up when he stomped his way to where Thorin stood with Dwalin and an older dwarf. Dwalin noticed him first, tapping Thorin on the shoulder.

“Your stalker’s arrived, Thorin,” he drawled.

Bilbo glared at him. “I’m only here to inquire about what’s taking so bloody long with that bloody tree!” Several heads swiveled at his shout and more than a few snickers followed. Bilbo glared at them all in turn, inwardly annoyed that he apparently didn’t have enough venom to silence their amusement. _I must be getting soft_ , he lamented.

“Can’t today after all,” Thorin said. “The equipment I need’s at another job.”

“What do you mean?”

Thorin held his hands close together, pointed downward. “It’s not on _this_ job,” he began, then moved his hands in the same motion, to the left. “It’s on _this_ job. _This_ job, is not _this_ job,” he said, reversing the pattern.

_You insufferably bullheaded, handsome –_ his face went hot. _Dammit._ “Can you give me some assurance that it will be gone? Sometime this century?” he added through gritted teeth.

Again, that eyebrow lift. He couldn’t tell if he hated it or loved it at this point. “Should have it in hand by tomorrow. Be patient.” Even through the thick beard, like all the times before, there could be no hiding the little smirk Thorin gave him. “I assure you, Master Hobbit, your property will be right as rain soon enough.”

“It’s _Baggins_ ,” he muttered, hands squeezed into fists at his sides. 

“Pardon?”

He gave up then. “Nothing. Just . . . please let me know when it’s complete.” He most certainly wasn’t whining but he certainly _was_ tired. At the very least, Lobelia had scored a point in creating a nuisance for Bilbo while she was gone. Wherever that was.

_Probably off to get her hooves filed,_ he groused.

Thorin appeared to take pity on him as he approached. He patted Bilbo on the shoulder. “Trust me. It’ll be done before the project is complete. We’re only laying the foundation for the bunker this week. We’ll be back later to build the rest.” He grinned faintly. “Should be less of a problem at that point.”

Bilbo took a deep breath and nodded. “Very well.” He eyed Thorin for a moment. Abruptly, he pressed up on tiptoes and shook a finger under Thorin’s hawkish nose. “If I have to come over here again _tomorrow_ –“

Thorin snorted, pushing Bilbo’s hand down. “Believe me, I get it,” he drawled.

Bilbo’s face flamed even hotter as he stared at his hand in Thorin’s. “Er, yes. Good.” He drew away, clearing his throat and fidgeting. “Good,” he repeated. He brushed a phantom dust mote from his pants. “I’ll, uh, be going then.” He stared at Thorin for a moment. Again, that quizzical eyebrow.

Without a word, he spun on his heel and did _not_ hurry back home. This time, Bilbo avoided looking out any window and didn’t quite relax until night fell. He made a quick dinner of chicken and potatoes, savoring the simple meal in front of his fireplace. A very _welcome_ distraction to the otherwise chaotic day he'd have preferred _not_ to have.

~~

Bright and early the next morning, Bilbo was pulled from his sleeping by a loud rapid knock. Yawning, he drew together his robe, tying it off and pulling open the door. “Th-thorin?”

It was Thorin but Bilbo had a moment where he assumed he was still dreaming. The dwarf was in a tight t-shirt, his arms bare and tufts of dark chest hair peeking over the low collar. And sweating. A great deal.

He scratched his bearded chin. “Your fence . . .”

“My fence,” Bilbo repeated, staring at a drop of sweat that was currently trickling down the dwarf’s temple. “Yes, there is a fence.”

Thorin’s blue eyes snapped to his, brow furrowed. “Hm. Anyway, your fence is shit.”

“My fence.” Bilbo drew out the words a moment before reality slammed home. He scowled. “My fence is not shit! That was laid by my great-great-grandfather!”

“It shows,” Thorin muttered. He folded his arms, muscle bulging. “It’s rotted worse than the tree. Have you _never_ had that inspected?”

Bilbo scowled, fidgeting. “No,” he admitted. He lifted his chin, annoyed. “It’s an heirloom. He knew what he was doing.”

Thorin lifted a brow. “Seems to me he was at the very least drunk when he did it.”

_Which is entirely possible_ , Bilbo admitted. He sighed, rubbing his face. “Can you just . . . fix the part that fell over?” _Why is this getting worse by the day? Go away you attractive bastard._ He peeked at Thorin through his fingers. “That’s doable, right?”

Given the stare that resulted, his shoulders sagged. “Not doable,” he conceded. 

“Entire fence needs to be replaced. Sooner rather than later,” Thorin pointed out. He gestured back toward the field behind Bilbo’s house. “Doesn’t need to be fancy. I have scrap slats you can use.”

_Lobelia you . . . disease._ Bilbo ground his teeth. “How. Much,” he managed. It appeared she was going to cost him after all. He doubted that had been her intent but she’d crow about it all the same.

Thorin waved a hand. “The fence was still broken by our work. That it’s rotted is beside the point. Just wanted to warn you I’ll have a team replacing _all_ of it today.”

_Oh. That was surprising._ He blinked and then smiled at Thorin, noting the dwarf looked away quickly. “Are you certain?”

“Hrn.” Thorin scratched the back of his head. “It’s fine. Like I said, it won’t be fancy but it’ll do the trick.” He focused on Bilbo again. “That okay?”

“Of course! Thank you, Thorin.” 

It earned him another wordless grunt in reply. “So. It’ll be done today. We’ll be finished with the foundation of the bunker as well so it’ll be quiet for a few days.” He gestured vaguely. “With the fence, be sure to let it alone for a day or two; it’ll take time for the concrete to set.”

“Oh, certainly.” This likely marked the _longest_ he’d talked with Thorin. And frankly, Bilbo wasn’t certain what to do next. “Erm. I have a fresh pot of tea, if you’d like?”

Thorin blinked at him a moment before his blue eyes softened. “Not right now. Need to get back to my team. Maybe later.” Without another word, he turned and headed down the steps before Bag End, turning around the side of Bilbo’s house and out of his view.

Bilbo sighed and leaned against his door. “That was cruel,” he whined. Attractive face and attractive body. Very cruel. He shut the door and headed to his kitchen, now wide awake. Well, pleasant irritation or not, it would be over after today. He’d have his pleasant mornings and afternoons back before long and Lobelia would come back to her pointless construction in the same situation she’d left in.

He brightened. “I feel I win,” he mused, filling his tea cup. 

Things were still noisy but at least this time, Bilbo knew _why_. He glanced once or twice out the back window but noted that Thorin wasn’t part of the fence crew. Which made sense. He appeared to be the foreman and not another cog in the wheel. He was likely overseeing the foundation work and not the repairs.

He puttered about the house, taking infrequent notice of where the fence-line repair was throughout the day. As the day wore on, he was amused to see that the crew had dwindled down to one dwarf who was very clearly not pleased with his day’s role. After setting each pole, he’d stump off to the next, rip out the old post, mix and dump concrete, plant the new pole and then repeat until he disappeared out of Bilbo’s sight. 

“Well,” he sighed, “at least this one will be stronger.” Thorin had a point, unfortunately. The old fence had been up for years. Frankly, he was surprised it hadn’t toppled over before now. “Still doesn’t mean it’s shit,” he muttered, wandering around his kitchen.

He lost himself in housework, reorganizing the pantry and making a list of expired supplies to replace. By the time night fell, he’d completely forgotten about fences and dwarves and noisy explosions until a rapid knocking at his door. He jumped, clacking his head against one of the lower shelves he’d been struggling to reach under.

Growling and rubbing his head, he yanked the door open angrily, stumbling back when he saw a surprised Thorin. “Ah, Thorin,” he blurted. He waved at his head. “Bit of an accident. Sorry.” He waved awkwardly. “Please, come in.”

Thorin eyed him. “Hit your head?”

“Mm.” He rubbed it again, wincing. Ugh, he hated that. It never lasted long but it certainly hurt when it happened. He froze when thick fingers began parting his hair. Oh, unfair how pleasant that was.

“No cut. Be more careful next time,” Thorin warned, withdrawing his hand as he did.

Bilbo stared at him, far too aware of those warm fingers in his hair. He swallowed and jumped. “Oh! Oh, lord; what can I do for you, Thorin?” He chuckled weakly. “Forgive my manners.”

To his surprise, Thorin appeared nervous; or at least, as nervous as he’d expect from the stoic dwarf. “Well, we’re done for the day. I have a different crew who’ll be out next week to finish the structure.” He coughed into his fist. “My sister heads that team up so I won’t be here.”

“Ah. Right.” Bilbo glanced about his hallway. “Um, yes, well; other than the initial . . . issues, your team has been rather respectful.” He smiled at Thorin. “And I appreciate you taking care of the fence.”

“Did you inspect it?”

“Inspect what?”

“The fence,” Thorin stated, drawing out the word. He frowned. “You barked about it for two days and didn’t even look to see the work that was done?”

Bilbo scowled in response. “I saw you had some poor lad dragging wet concrete about. I know it’s done,” he snapped, folding his arms. “I don’t need to haunt the poor sod’s footsteps, do I?”

Thorin’s eyes nearly disappeared in his frown. “Bloody hell. You’re impossible.”

Oh, that was too much. Bilbo’s eyes widened impossibly. “ _I’m_ impossible?! You couldn’t even be bothered to bring correct equipment when you promised! And, might I add, set off explosions without warning!” Bilbo laughed sourly. “If anyone’s impossible, dear _Thorin_ , I’d say it was you.” He held out a hand, poking Thorin in the chest. “You can’t even remember my last name.”

“Oh, really?” Thorin growled.

Bilbo shivered but kept up his smug grin. “You haven’t said it correctly _once_ this entire time. Even though I’ve repeated it to you plenty of times.” He lifted his chin in triumph. “I highly doubt you could recite it now, even.”

“That so?” Thorin lifted a brow. “Care to wager?”

Bilbo snorted, though his heart did a little triple skip at the sneaky look in the dwarf’s eyes. “What exactly?”

“Dinner.”

He checked the urge to squint. “That all?” He snorted again, secretly hoping that Thorin would prove him wrong. Which, honestly, was worse than being a young hobbit in school trailing after a crush. _Oh, lord; I need a vacation._ He raised his shoulders in a nonchalant shrug. “Fine. Dinner. My treat. _If_ you can recall my _full_ name.” He smirked. “After all, I’ve remembered yours, _Thorin Oakenshield._ ”

Thorin hadn’t moved, still frowned at Bilbo but the tension in the room had done funny things to the air. At this stage, Bilbo half wondered if Thorin wanted to pin him against the wall or toss him out the door. Dwarves were very difficult to read, he realized. Maybe. He squinted, catching a quirk of Thorin’s lips as he did.

Thorin dropped his arms and stepped forward, sending Bilbo scurrying back to steps as he did. And didn’t _stop_ moving until he truly did have Bilbo up against the hallway wall. “Well, _Bilbo Baggins_ , I do hope you realize I have an _appetite_ ,” he murmured.

Bilbo blinked rapidly at the husky voice and squawked, “Oh, you cheeky bastard!”

Thorin grinned. He went still and then leaned in, kissing Bilbo softly. “And you’re not as observant as you think, Master Baggins.”

“Hmm?” Dazed, Bilbo licked his lips, marveling at soft feel of the dwarf’s mouth on his. He blinked again. “Wait. What was that?”

“I kept expecting you to figure it out but,” he held out his hands, shrugging. “Seems you were more interested in yelling at me than anything else.” His grin turned into a sly smirk. “You have a one-track mind, Master Baggins.”

Bilbo scrunched his shoulders, scowling hard enough to fuse his chin with his neck. “What in the hell are you babbling about?” he muttered. Observant? Of what? He’d been fully aware of the nonsense Thorin and his crew had been manufactured over the last few days. A little _too_ aware, in fact.

Thorin folded his arms across his chest, jacket straining as he did. “The tree.”

“What about the tree?”

“It wasn’t anywhere near your fence line.”

“It wasn’t . . .” Bilbo snapped his mouth shut. Wait. _Wait._ He scanned his memories, realizing Thorin was right. The tree he’d pointed out was set well back from the fence line. Rotted or not, it certainly shouldn’t have taken out his fence. He leapt forward and swatted Thorin in the chest, ignoring the pleasant way the dwarf chuckled. “You destroyed my fence for no reason?!”

“I did you a favor,” Thorin said, catching his hand. He stroked his thumb along Bilbo’s skin and much to his annoyance, calmed him quickly. “I’d noticed the fence was looking rotted but also knew you’d like not accept any suggestion on it.” He glanced around the house. “You’re very keen on sentiment, it seems.” Still holding Bilbo’s hand, he shrugged. “Dwalin suggested it, knowing you’d be more apt to accept if it was a repair.”

“You really are a cheeky bastard,” Bilbo muttered. But, he didn’t pull his hand back, enjoying the warm grip far too much. He cleared his throat, staring resolutely to where Thorin was currently twining their fingers together. “I . . . I suppose I owe you for that as well then.” He glanced up then, entranced by the warm blue eyes. “And the, er, wager.” He coughed. “Least I can do.”

“Exactly.”

Bilbo froze. Then whipped his head up. “You kissed me!”

Thorin snorted. “As I said, not as observant as you want to believe.”

“Oh, you rude git,” Bilbo muttered. “What would you have done if I’d refused?”

The dwarf slipped a thick, warm hand around the back of his neck, pulling him in for another kiss, this one far sultrier and doing a _fine_ job of short-circuiting Bilbo’s thought processes. “You wouldn’t have,” Thorin purred, smug look firmly in place.

“You . . . you . . .” he trailed off, glaring at Thorin. “You’re very sure of yourself, aren’t you, Thorin?” Try as he might, he couldn’t quite fight off the relieved grin.

“I am.”

“Most don’t like that,” Bilbo pointed out, even as he turned to grab his jacket from the hook in the hall, his other hand still safe and secure in Thorin’s.

“True.” Thorin opened the front door and tugged Bilbo along with him. “Good thing you aren’t most then, hm?”

Bilbo chucked and pulled on their joined hands, stealing a third kiss. “Good thing, indeed.” As they walked down the drive toward Thorin’s truck, Bilbo suddenly began laughing, losing his grip on Thorin as he nearly doubled over.

“What’s wrong with you now?” Thorin chided, warmly amused.

Bilbo straightened, wiping tears from his eyes. “L-Lobelia,” he wheezed. He sucked in a breath of air, letting it out in a bark of laughter. “She likely thought hiring you would piss me off. Maybe get me to sign over Bag End to her so she could plow it down for a development.” He snickered. “Oh, I can’t wait for her to learn I was plowed by her contractor instead.”

Thorin’s eyes went wide for a moment before he chuckled. “I knew I would like this job,” he said.

Once in Thorin’s truck, Bilbo shook his head in lingering amusement. He eyed Thorin as the dwarf started the truck. “You know,” he sighed, catching Thorin’s quizzical look, “I think I liked this job, too.” He fisted his hand in Thorin’s jacket and pulled the dwarf into another kiss before murmuring, “Fine work, Master Oakenshield.” 

_Eventually,_ they made it to dinner. 

**Author's Note:**

> A darling dear prompted me on some Bagginshield ideas on Tumblr and this one came to life. Oh my I enjoyed every second of it, if only for the dialogue. It should have just been a brief thing but turned into this _actual fic_ so do enjoy. 
> 
> [My Tumblr](https://snarkymonkeyprime.tumblr.com).


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